


Oh no, not a chance in Hell

by writing_and_worrying



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Body Horror, Character Death, Demons, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Ghosts, Gothic, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Mind the Tags, Mystery, Psychological Horror, Spooky, Temporary Character Death, Undead, Vampires, Were-Creatures, Werefoxes, Witchcraft, Witches, be safe!, it is spooky season, read chapter 1 for more info on the content/trigger warnings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:48:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27065143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writing_and_worrying/pseuds/writing_and_worrying
Summary: It is Halloween and no one has written any Halloween fics so I'm doing it. It's those DreamSMP people & various friends.Title and chapters from 'Under My Skin' by Jukebox the Ghost
Relationships: may get homoerotic w/ da homies tho, none you freaks
Comments: 16
Kudos: 41





	1. blah blah blah warnings & note

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not a proud man. Yes I know I said I'd start something I already planned out. I used an advanced technique called lying. I think it's getting a little boring only seeing barely canon-divergent DreamSMP fics. What happened to AUs????? C'mon spooky lads, up your game. 
> 
> I'm mostly joking I love all the fics everyone keeps writing but also I want a spooky AU >:(
> 
> So I wrote my own. 
> 
> Updates who knows when. Read da first chapter for warnings/triggers/etc.

Hey there demons, it's me, ya boi. Back at it again with another fic to never finish. I'm feelin' spooky! You're feelin' spooky! We're all feelin' spooky! So I'm writing a spooky story! Pogs in the chat. Anyway, I literally can't write something nice and sweet and lighthearted, and this is horror, so... yeah we are gonna need some warnings. But first, I'll get the general stuff out of the way.

  1. **There will be no shipping in this fic.** None. I repeat, no shipping. If I see you shipping I'll bust your kneecaps. However (and, that's a very cautious however) it may get a little (or a lottle) homoerotic in places. I assure you, it's not in a shippy way, it's in an 'I read too much gothic horror and for some reason, all of it was super gay' way. All of it is done for story/scene/character-building purposes. If close male friendship that is maybe a little queer makes you uncomfortable, look away now.
  2. **There will be irregular uploads.** I'm a busy and lazy person. Anyone who read my other stuff will know this. But eh. If you comment nice stuff (especially analysis) I may update faster. :eyes:
  3. **I have no clue what I am doing.** Usually, I plan these fics before writing them. Not this time. I have basic plans in my head (and on my discord) but basically I'm flying blind right now. Who knows what I'm gonna do. Who knows! Obviously, this means there might be some weird inconsistencies, but I'll try to keep that to a minimum.



Okay, now we've got that sorted, let's go on to the specific warnings & information about this fic. :)

  1. **Blood and Gore.** There will be blood and gore in this. Especially body horror type stuff. Specifically, things to do with rot and decay, and insects. If this makes you uncomfortable, please don't read this. It isn't for the weak of heart. Of course, different CCs have different boundaries for this kind of thing, so the more extreme stuff is being left to the CCs who have stated they're okay with it/reacted positively to other similar themes. I am using @/smp-boundaries on Tumblr as a general guide, so if I accidentally overstep a boundary stated on there, please let me know!
  2. **Death.** You've seen the tag, there's death in this fic. I have a rule that I hold myself too when it comes to death in RPF, and that is 'if they die, bring em back'. Which, honestly, can be a pretty rubbish way to write original fiction, but it works very well for this fic. Since it's a Halloween fic, there's gonna be undead monsters, a lot of them. I'm talkin' vampires, ghosts, weird undead husks. I'm not going to describe anyone's death in graphic detail, especially not minors. Everyone is fine.
  3. **Existentialism.** We are gonna get depressing with some bits. Very sorry.
  4. **Religious Imagery/Practices.** Not sure how much there will be, but there might be some. Nothing super major. Also, unrelated, but there will be poorly-explained witchcraft, rituals, demon stuff, etc etc
  5. **Horror.** This is horror fiction. With comedy and found family thrown in. Be warned, it's gonna get at least a little bit spooky.



Lastly, creator warnings, if you missed the tags: jschlatt is in this. He's like, the main character kind of, so... if you hate him/he makes you uncomfortable maybe don't read, eh?

Thanks for reading, the first chapter will be coming very soon ;)

\- Ren


	2. How much can you fit under your skin?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One (1) absolute moron visits a castle.  
> A Journal is read.  
> Foxes make good friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we go. Hey, if you like this, maybe consider leaving a comment? They literally make my day every time! Especially long comments... :eyes:

The castle before Schlatt was like nothing he’d ever seen, and by god had he seen a lot. It stood proud like a soldier, perhaps unaware of its own ancient nature, withered at the edges, rotting as old oak. 

Stained-glass windows somehow void of colour filled up huge elevated spaces, their grandeur lost to time, though echoes of what once was still wilted into each pane, hugged by patterns of intricate design. Staring up at them gave him vertigo. Towering arches of grey brick framed the heavy wooden doors, casting bleak, dark shadows across the lifeless ground. Off to the sides, separate towers sat covered in ornate flourishes and creeping brown vines, oppressive structures looming over him as he stepped ever closer.

Black, unhappy trees spread their crooked fingers across the dirt path which led to the castle’s front doors. They reached for him, as if trying to grab at his clothes and pull him astray. A certain humidity made the air thick like molasses. Ever cautious, he hopped past two fairy rings, avoiding setting his food down inside either. You can never be too careful.

When he first caught eye of it, he’d faltered. This couldn’t be it. He had to be in the wrong place. This castle, it looked like it hadn’t been disturbed for centuries. Which, well, it hadn’t been, not by the townspeople, but if he were to find what he was looking for… 

Thunder boomed in the distance, grey filled the sky faster than he’d expected, and a single drop of rain fell onto his face. Then another, and another. Ah, British weather, he could always count on it to be terrible. But he’d set it upon himself to find some fun in the dreary and call it pathetic fallacy. Like something straight out of a storybook.

The rain got worse, and he understood why so many Brits end up becoming writers. How can you go outside when this is all there is? Echoing drops fell into the wishing well nearby, and he could see it bouncing off of the slate tiles on the castle’s lower roof. Some water sunk into his clothes, causing him to shiver, but not from the temperature. The sensation itself took him by surprise.

Earthy, rain-split smells filled the weighted air, a petrichor pallet deepening with each rush of water. Dry, dead things almost burst to life before his eyes, enough to make him believe they had hope. Yellow grass, cut too short to breathe, drank the rain like mosquitos to blood. A disturbing thought when the liquid pooling in the path ran red with mud.

A distinct calm washed over Schlatt, something of the weather or of the castle, he didn’t know. He’d always enjoyed things to be just a little unnerving. It gives an excitement to life. The excitement of death, to be exact. His hand came to twist the pendant around his neck, absent, as he focussed on the way a torrent of water fell from an overhand in the roof to the ground, splashing dirt against the wall. Hm.

His last quarter found itself in the wishing well. No use for it here.

Schlatt stepped inside the castle with ease, the thick wooden door wide open, as if inviting him in. He met with a vast entrance hall, built from cold grey brick that crumbled and cracked at the edges. Monumental arches hung above his head, curving upwards and inwards to a central spine like the ribcage of a tremendous, sleeping beast. 

Rivers and trails of moss covered some bricks on the walls and floor near the entrance, soft under his shoes, making the steps he took silent. It was terrifying in every way he'd imagined.

Candles flickered at one corner of the room, light catching on a huge old chandelier that hung from the ceiling. Someone had been here. Recently.

He walked further into the hall, eyes trailing up the double staircase looping around to the first floor. His breath fogged up in the cool air, but his woollen jacket kept the icy night at bay, though his gloves would be removed soon. He didn’t want his hold to slip if he fell, and this place seemed old enough that he might. 

Out of the corner of his eye, something moved. A stir in the darkness. He pivoted to the shadows, eyes wide and watching, breath caught in his chest. Silence. The steady beat of his heart thrummed in his ears, each one louder than the last, over and over, marking seconds as he stared into nothing. Tension grasped his body, threatening to paralyse him completely. Anything could be in those shadows.

The cry of a raven startled him, its shrieked sound almost making him lose his footing. Curses left his mouth, but he relaxed—the movement must have been a bird. 

Then he felt something shift behind his head, and he turned to see a man grinning back at him. He yelped and stumbled back further into the room, and the man laughed. Cruel, mocking, performative. Like some movie villain. Schlatt realised he didn’t remember why he came here in the first place, watching the man take a step towards him.

His skin was a sickly pale colour, and he was tall—taller than Schlatt, which was difficult—and his eyes, oh, his eyes; they were blood red. Animalistic. Dangerous, with make-up black like soot or tar. Those eyes stared right through him, and the man smirked with a disturbed humour that shook him to his soul.

He tutted, and suddenly he was behind him again, holding him in place by the hood of his jacket. Schlatt’s heart threatened to break his ribs. 

"Are you scared?" The way the man asked it only showed that he knew the answer. He was enjoying this. He was enjoying this in quite the same way a cat enjoys tormenting a mouse before its inevitable demise. 

Rain cascaded outside. "Please," Schlatt said, voice trembling, "let—let me go." The man—the _creature_ —let out a terse, fake laugh at that, and Schlatt's shoulders tensed. The grip on his jacket only got tighter when he struggled, limbs thrashing in every direction. 

Breaths came soft and calculated near his neck. "An American?" The creature's voice dripped with amusement. "What are you doing so far away from home, lamb? Maybe you should have stayed with the flock, hm?" He sniffed the air, content in drawing this out as long as possible. Schlatt's mind raced, trying to come to a logical conclusion as to what the hell this creature was, but his own mortality distracted him, hanging by a thread in unsafe hands.

Begging for his life came to mind, but somehow he didn’t think the creature was the bargaining type. He seemed more like the murdering type, and Schlatt almost laughed at that, his senses losing to brief hysterics. His body jolted, something evolutionary screaming at him to escape. The creature growled at his struggles, holding him back with expected ease.

The smell of sulfur filled the air, burning the back of his throat, and within seconds another person stood right there in front of both of them. He was also tall, but less pale, and his eyes were white—like clean bone or ivory—with no pupil at all. He wore an expression of obvious distaste.

"Leave the guy alone, Will. You're traumatising him." His voice was deep, and Schlatt wasn't _ungrateful_ for the guy’s words, but also he felt as though he should get a say. They were talking as if he wasn't even there. And he was very much there.

The creature, Will, apparently, huffed. "But I haven't seen a human in _months_ , Eret. I should be allowed to have _some_ fun before… y'know." Okay, Schlatt did _not_ like the sound of that. First of all, 'human'? Cool, awesome, so he was dealing with actual monsters, amazing. Second, what the hell did 'y'know' mean?

At least he knew the other one's name now. Eret raised an eyebrow at Will, judging. "Phil said you're not allowed to do that anymore, he said it isn't fair on the people. Because they die." Well, that cleared things up. Schlatt attempted another escape, hitting the arm that held him in place, but Will barely moved, nails scraping against the back of his neck, light, as if in warning.

"I hate it here," Will said, as if not being able to commit murder was a minor grievance at best, "what are we supposed to do with a human, then? We can't let him go and I can't do my thing so what's the plan? Did Dad even _think_ of a plan? I doubt it!" Distantly, Schlatt reasoned that maybe all British people were like this.

This, of course, was only a little true. Most British people aren't creatures from Hell (see: Essex) but they are sarcastic little shits, so he was on the mark there. Unfortunately, he wasn’t on the mark for much of anything else. In fact, you could say that he missed the mark by several miles just by setting foot in the building.

Eret rolled his eyes, and his hands glowed white. It looked like someone was shining a light under his skin, his palms illuminating the cold stone around them. "It's fine, we can figure all that out later. Now hold him still." Schlatt felt Will grab his arm with his free hand, forcing him to stop struggling a little. He shook against the hold, and somewhere, in the back of his jumbled, screaming thoughts, he remembered to speak.

"No, no, no—wait! Wait, what are you doing? Don't do this! Don't! Stop it! Sto—"

Eret's hand covered his eyes, and the world went black.

\-----

_Journal of one ‘Techno Blade’ found three days after his death in Southern California, aged twenty-one. This is a recording for the Harlington Investigation Bureau, California. This is the first of three tapes recording important elements of Mr Blade's Journal, to serve as primary sources for any further investigations. My name is [REDACTED AUDIO] and I will be the primary, and only, investigator for this case, since the budget only goes so far, and Mr Blade’s family have asked the police to put the case to bed._

_Conditions of the man’s death are confusing at best. We, or I, aim to gain some clarity from this journal as to exactly how the events leading up to his death occurred. In a cruel turn of events, it seems that someone stole the journal and started writing in it after Mr Blade’s untimely death. Their handwriting is hauntingly similar to the deceased. This makes it hard to pinpoint where Mr Blade’s entries stop, and the stranger’s begin. Even stranger than this, the journal was found in London, England, thousands of miles away from Mr Blade’s last resting place._

_The case should be handed over, in my personal opinion, to the London Division. But my opinion on the matter is irrelevant._

_Segment, deemed an important source, from 05/07/18 reads as follows:_

_‘I can feel it coming closer, now. It might be paranoia, in fact, I convinced myself it must be. I don’t know if anyone will find this, but I hope they do—they have to. They have to know that it isn’t safe here. They have to know._

_I’ve been drawing the symbols more often now. They said I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it. The temptation to contact them is too great. Will said that it’ll be over soon, and I believe him. He’s convincing, in a way, but wouldn’t you be inclined to believe family? I don’t know, I’m rambling again._

_To be honest, I’m not sure how this works anymore. When it happens, what happens to my body? What happens to my home? Eret said not to worry about it. I don’t think he realises that worrying is my whole thing. Heh._

_Is it considered tax fraud if I’m dead?_

_I wish I had someone to talk to. I wish I had someone who would understand. No, all I have are the symbols, and them, and they’re all the way over in England. I know I’ll be there soon… still._

_Well, whoever finds this better know what they’re doing, cause this shit is gonna get weird fast. I guess I better go for now. I’ll write again soon. I think.’_

_Entry ends. I’m unsure of what Mr Blade’s delusions were saying to him in the weeks leading to his death, but the state of his body and place of final residence are certainly strange as he said. I find it concerning that two other names were mentioned. I looked at records surrounding anyone in England with the names ‘Will’ or ‘Eret’, but no oddities came up that haven’t been dealt with before. We’ll do some looking. Message ends._

\-----

Tiny feet skittered across a crystalline floor, up, up the pathways, across stepping stones at the river, up shining stairs and overgrown rubble. The fox jumped and rolled in the moonlight, soaking himself in the warm aftermath of the storm. He yipped and barked, joyful to the stars and planets and void of space, the trees hanging over his little body, a welcoming embrace, guiding him home. 

All too soon, but not soon enough, the full moon revealed a window. Inside, a warmly lit room, lush with flowers and hanging tapestries, inviting and familiar. At a dark wooden desk, a young woman sat with an ink pen in hand, humming to herself. Next to her, several jars, each containing a different type of amphibian floating in some preserving liquid. A simple candle lit her parchment. She looked tired.

The fox let out a sharp, singing cry, alerting his friend to his presence. To the untrained ear, the noise was painful, like a baby’s wail, or a scream in the night, but that is just how foxes are, and that is the sound they make. 

The woman turned her head to the window and smiled when she saw him. She stood from her work, pausing to yawn, then making her way over to him, tapping once on the glass as a form of greeting. 

A small creak came from the window as it opened. “I was wondering when you’d get here. Did the change go well?” Her soft accent gently stressed her words, and she let him jump into her arms so she could carry him. The fox gave her an affirmative bark, settling down into the bedsheets where she placed him. The two sat in the quiet for a minute, just enjoying each other’s company and listening to the world go by outside. It was nice.

Soon enough, though, the woman had to get back to her work. “Will you be alright to sleep now?” She yawned again, and the fox thought if he could speak he’d tell her to sleep as well, but he understood her craft was too important to do so. So he shimmied in an improvised ‘yes’ motion, closing his eyes and relaxing his muscles. He could already feel a wave of hazy sleep wash over him.

His ear twitched, and the woman laughed, quiet and timid as a rabbit. But this was a rabbit he had no ill intention towards. She reached over and patted him once on the head. Then the room became dim, the promise of sleep growing ever nearer. The sweet smell of sugar caramelising filled the air, beckoning the fox into peaceful dreams and restful slumber as his friend continued to work. 

Finally, the lights went dark. The candle even burnt lower, lighting only what she needed to see. 

“Goodnight, Fundy.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed that! If you did, don't forget to leave feedback down below :) drop a kudos too if you like! I'm trying to write at least 2500 words per chapter, just to challenge myself really. I hope that's a good chapter length for you guys! Thanks for reading and have a great day! xoxo
> 
> \- Ren


End file.
